


Ends To Justify The Means

by captainkaramerica



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, Bruises, Dark, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Discipline, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Gilded Cage, Glove Kink, Hades/Persephone Undertones, Implied/Referenced Stockholm Syndrome, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Not Related, Loss of Innocence, M/M, Mental Instability, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Roughness, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference, War, about the asshole thing...she's right, based off of sternritter-f's reylo fairy-tale aesthetics, kylo likes rey because she's cute and tiny and badass, rey thinks he's an asshole and just wants to go home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6571582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainkaramerica/pseuds/captainkaramerica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monsters must be careful with their toys--especially if that toy happens to be a volatile, beautiful, and headstrong princess whose hand was promised to someone so terrifying, she was hidden away in order to prevent him from corrupting her. </p><p>Sometimes, though, even monsters can feel love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Tragedy In Twofold (Or, Rey Finds Out That She Is A Princess In The Worst Way Possible, And Kylo Ren Misses His Grandfather)

**Author's Note:**

> i am so sorry  
> (btw this is using modern-day english when the characters are speaking because fuck man who needs old english i cant read that shit)
> 
> my tumblr can be found at capitalism.co.vu!! the music is set to autoplay so if sudden noises upset you make sure you turn off the volume.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just fckinh. Slay me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ACCIEENTALLY FUCKING DELETED THE FIRST CHAPTER SO HERE IT IS AGAIN.... KILL ME
> 
> YOU KNOW THE DRILL

Rey can taste her own fear as the distance between her and her masked assailant shrinks. His legs are long and powerful, his strides swift and purposeful, and for every three steps she makes in the opposite direction he can clear as much ground in only one. It is only when she finds herself surrounded by knights dressed similarly to this quiet specter that she truly begins to panic. Astride mounts with coats black as the velvet evening, Rey feels very small indeed.

“If you mean to hurt me, or otherwise rob me of any perceived goods, let it be known that I am but the offspring of a serf,” she whispers, her voice trembling as violently as her body. “I have no worth to any of you.”

The massive figure, who breathes and trails darkness as though it were a cloak, and shrouds himself with the fear of others, paces about her. She can feel his eyes bore into her, piercing through her clothing and tearing her skin to shreds in an effort to lap up her blood and leave her to rot. But he stops behind her, and Rey waits for the end to come. Every rustle of his armor, every restless whinny of the horses surrounding her might as well be the sound of his sword unsheathing.

So it is terribly unexpected when the smooth leather of his gloves meets her cheek, his knuckles stroking the soft skin gently. Underneath the thin veneer of reverence, though, echoes a very credible threat that lies thick and heavy in the air, suffocating her– _if you struggle_ , he seems to say, you will die.

“It _is_ you,” he breathes, voice distorted. Rey grows more disturbed by the second with his uncomfortable behavior.

“I have no idea what it is you are mistaking me for, but rest assured that I am a person of no interest,” she replies tearfully, ashamed of her weakness. But his hand is so large that a simple flick of his wrist could snap her neck, and Rey is not so stupid as to tempt fate.

“Sir,” a rider interrupts, “are you absolutely sure that she–”

“I thought I had made it very clear, you insolent wretch, that this expedition was to proceed unquestioned and uninterrupted.” The burning weight of his hand disappears, and Rey nearly collapses with relief until the unmistakable grind of a blade being drawn shakes her to her very core. Thoughtlessly, she turns and grabs his forearm, that of which is poised to cut short the life of the ill-fated knight.

“Stop,” she cries out, and time seems to be the only thing to obey her sudden command. She tugs on the terribly-muscular limb as the field grows silent, and she is struck as even the wind, it seems, pauses between its breaths to watch the strange display. “Please, don’t kill him. I’m sure he’s right,” she says breathlessly, but gone is her fear as it is replaced with a cold, swiftly-growing resentment for this man. “You must be looking for a– a– oh, damn it,” she continues, cursing herself loudly. “I am not the one you’re looking for.”

He lowers her. Gently. And slaughters both the horse and its rider. Covered in shed blood, he tosses his helm to the side and turns.

“You have no idea who I am, then.” His face is both terrifying and welcoming, with dark eyes surrounded with a halo of purple, indicating his lack of sleep, and a nose long and angular. But despite his warm, beseeching gaze, there is no influx of memory, or even a vague recollection of who he is. Instead, Rey spits at his feet.

His reaction is immediate. His mouth widens in a cruel fashion, teeth clenched together and baring his sharp canines in a snarl. Stupidly, Rey thinks, he must have access to a wealth of meat. She turns and runs in the empty space where the offending rider once stood, forgetting momentarily just how massive this unstable man is. She has time to reflect on her life as the blood roars through her ears, a fitting symphony to her inevitable death, when an arm, as muscle-bound as the individual it belongs to, wraps itself around her small waist and plucks her off of the ground with ease.

“Just as troublesome and wild as I recall,” he says to no one in particular, and she beats upon him with every ounce of her strength–which is nearly nonexistent when compared with his own–and throws her to the ground. Her lack of energy, the evening’s procession, and the force with which he releases her causes her to faint, but not before she has enough time to think, _shit_.

* * *

Rey dreams of home. A small cottage, picturesque and familiar and lovely, if anyone could ignore the droppings left by the free-roaming chickens; her father, worried and nursing dirty, unfiltered ale. He would rest uneasily, and she feels horrible. The dream shifts, and she is on a boat, rocking back and forth as someone hums a lullaby. The timbre of the voice is bottomless and deep, but not unpleasant.

Did the boat just snort?

She wakes too suddenly for her liking, and she can’t steady herself in time. It’s only the large hand that presses itself against her stomach that prevents her from falling off of the horse–

Shit, she thinks, and slams the back of her head against the broad expanse of muscle that makes up her barrier to freedom; that, of course, and the coarse rope that chafes the smooth skin of her wrists as she struggles to free herself. But she forgets that the man who’d abducted her was expecting resistance, and her ill-fated headbutt results in a dent to his breastplate, and nothing more.

“You should rest again,” he says, almost lovingly. As though he has a right to address her with such reverence–or wrap an arm around her waist that is just a bit too familiar for her liking.

“Pardon my language,” Rey hisses, blood roaring through her ears as she struggles against him, “but have you gone absolutely _fucking_ insane? If you could listen for but one moment, you would know that I am not the person you need. I am no one.”

“Language like that does not belong in the mouth of a lady.”

“Neither does your hand about my waist. You are nothing but a common degenerate.” Rey laughs. “You must think me a whore that will be easy to bed. You're a foolish coward.”

“I am a king,” he seethes, stopping suddenly. “You belong to me. Surely you’ve heard of the Butcher? The monarch who bathes in blood and ash?” Clearly he expects her to find some sort of familiarity in the names, but all Rey can find her mind focusing upon is the fact that he’d said that she belonged to him.

“I’m married to no one,” she replies stubbornly, not bothering to disguise her contempt as he laughs. She has trouble ignoring the way his chest rises and falls, though. Or how soothing it feels.

“Not yet,” he says. He leans forward to pat the horse, and it continues its steady trot. For the next few minutes she remains silent, gauging her situation while making a brave attempt to preserve face. He has a small group of knights flanking him on either side, so clearly he is a man of power and money; perhaps he intends to use her, and throw her away once she has outlived her purpose.

“Never,” she says finally, and he squeezes the swell of her hip forcefully, then stroking the spot; there will be a bruise in that very spot tomorrow, Rey knows.

If she lives through today, that is.

“Many years ago,” he begins, voice crisp and professional, “my grandfather, Vader–”

“Invader?” Rey is incredulous. Surely he cannot be the direct descendant of someone as powerful and fearsome as he.

“Clearly,” he says, irritated. “I might have to fix your tongue later–but I enjoy your voice immensely, so perhaps not. In any case,” he continues, leaving the threat hanging over her head, “he threatened war if he could not manage to secure the throne of this country through diplomatic means. You see, Leia Organa, his daughter and an effective negotiator, had married a common fool many years prior and was with child at the time; this left Vader with only one candidate to take over his empire upon his inevitable death. To take this country through ‘diplomatic means’, his grandson had to marry into the throne–the intended bride was the infant heir to the throne of his intended conquest. In order to prevent an invasion, and thereby preventing the death of thousands of loyal subjects, the girl’s parents had her hand promised to the grandson; however, it was only valid if the girl was old enough to consent. At fifteen she was to be married off to Vader’s heir, which would link this country to his empire through marriage. But the girl was hidden away by her foolish, cowardly parents, which meant that this country could never fall into the hands of Kylo Ren, Vader’s grandson, unless the girl was found.”

“This has absolutely nothing to do with me.”

“It has, actually, everything to do with you. The lost princess has been found by Vader’s heir, and is sitting astride his horse at this very moment.”

Rey utters a small squeak of disbelief. There is no sudden influx of emotion at the discovery of her heritage; nor is there a wave of memory, save but the kind and very pale face of a black-haired boy leaning over a crib–from the obvious perspective of an infant. She’s sweet, says the hazy figure as he leans close, and a small fist connects with his too-large nose as he recoils, offended but not injured. I like her.

“I knew you would remember me,” he says proudly. She longs to hit him once more, but there is something distinctly different about the boy from her memory and the behemoth who holds her so very close. “You should sleep, now. Reyanna.” He whispers the name as though it were the key to the heavens–for him, it likely is.

“Rey,” she says quietly, taking his advice and closing her eyes.

“Rey,” he replies, after he is sure of her unconsciousness. He is still full of love for his little princess, who is still as beautiful and vibrant as he remembers.


	2. A Wealth Of Emotion (Or, Our Favorite Asshole And Rey Argue, Break Shit, And Practice Safe Sex)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kara tries to cram as many classical literature tropes in here as possible: including forced bathing and lots of sexual tension b/t two glorified strangers resulting in this fic earning its e rating
> 
> honestly the fight to sex was inspired partly by the argument b/t jessa n adam in girls can u tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just...... fckin kill me please 
> 
> also!!!! big thanks to everyone who is reading and bookmarking and w/ever the fuck!!!! i really appreciate it yall god bless
> 
> the Sex™ happens here.... extremely mild dubious consent be warned. also temper tantrums
> 
> i owe u all an apology im so bad at updating i love you all

 "It would be much more conducive for your current situation, as I am sure you happen to be aware of, if you merely chose to cooperate." Kylo Ren, having been summoned to the baths to encourage Rey's compliance, kneels before her. His gaze is both soft and fierce, and behind it lies an echo of madness--which frightens her quite a lot. Still, Rey thinks, she feels no urge to heed his orders. Despite what he--and other men--may think, she is clever enough to gauge his clear intentions. His threats will remain threats--if he brings any harm to her, the agreement will be rendered null and void. 

It does not help, she thinks, that she is lacking any sort of clothing; ever the gentleman, he had raked his eyes across her nude physique, narrow but softly curved. The blush still lingers upon her cheeks. "I have no intention of allowing women under your employ to  _clean_ me! I can wash myself, damn it!" 

"Then you did a remarkably poor job. Are you caked with filth, or is that merely your disposition?"

"Obviously I was clean before--need I remind you--my _kidnapping_ ," she seethes, pulling the thick towel he had brought along about her person. "I demand to see proof of this ridiculous _treaty_ you seem so fond of mentioning."

"If you wish to see it so badly, then I am more than happy to oblige. You had better clean yourself properly, Rey. I don't enjoy grime in my library."

"Then perhaps it should not be _your_ library, Ren," and she utters a squeak of alarm when he rises swiftly, the humidity of the room covering his forehead with a fine sheen of sweat. In a movement that seems too fast for her to follow, he cradles her head within his palm (which is obscenely large, she thinks) and urges her chin upwards, forcing her to, once again, be subject to his wild gaze. Gently he brushes the fine wisps of hair away from her forehead, and she can only think,  _he is going to kiss me_.

He leans so close to Rey that she shrinks back imperceptibly, and his grip tightens just enough to make her aware of his strength and the power he wields over her. Moving to place his lips just above the shell of her ear, he growls, "Rey, everything in this manor is _mine_. You are no exception. I will not have you questioning my authority."

He leaves her, a shivering mess of confusion and unwilling arousal, with the order to dress herself and meet him later.

* * *

"Leave it down, please," Rey says to the surprised servant-girl. From behind her there is a sharp intake of breath on behalf of the slip of a girl, who had entered pale and clutching a mass of fabric that Rey had supposed was a dress. From there she had been given the small luxury of dressing herself without Ren's heavy, overbearing presence and uncomfortable stares; it was of a light silk, meant to wear when sleeping, and she had loved it (although the message behind it had been clear, it did nothing to dampen her joy).  

"Lord Ren--" the girl begins, but Rey hushes her. 

"He will not punish you for obeying  _my_ request." 

"Miss, pardon my tongue, but he said that I was to ignore your wishes. That until you grant him your hand, you have no power here whatsoever."

 _That beast_ , Rey thinks, but her reply is replaced with a squeak of pain as her hair is pulled into a simple braid.

" _Grant_? If he is to be believed, then he may take whatever he wants!" What gall the man has! 

"I have heard that he wishes to _earn_ your love. He was quite adamant about this, Miss." Rey parts her lips to sigh softly as the woman's fingers leave her hair, the braid thick and soft. She is loathe to admit it, but she feels very attractive indeed. 

Perhaps this may not be as bad as she had thought.

* * *

"I know how to  _read_ , your Highness." Rey laces her voice with contempt, but gazes upon his irritated form with nothing short of mirth. He meets her stare, clearly exasperated, and she blinks up at him innocently. "I was not convinced that you had heard me—"

" _Enough_ ," he growls, and Rey is hit with a sudden wave of fear as he strides forward, trapping her upon the armchair in his library by placing an arm on either side of her, leaning forward. There is a grimace distorting his features. 

The air is still, and he deigns to interrupt the silence, opting instead to turn away suddenly and knock the tea-table aside. Rey watches with growing unease as the porcelain teaset is crushed beneath the heel of his boot, and he destroys nearly everything within the sitting-area save for her chair. Ren is silent, which she finds to be the most disturbing aspect; he is nearly inhuman in his voiceless rage. When he returns, his breathing is ragged, hair a mess, and positions himself behind her, broad enough to cast a shadow in the glow of the fire. 

"My apologies."

"For destroying this," she hisses, now more angry than frightened as she jumps from the chair and gestures to the testament of his fury, "over a simple jibe? You are a  _child_!"

"I would not have had to allow my vexation to control my actions, my  _Lady_ , if you were capable of minding your tongue!" Kylo Ren turns from her silhouette to knock the entire contents of the closest bookshelf to the ground, joining the glass, shattered porcelain, and cold tea already littering the marble. 

"If your disposition was not that of a simple-minded brat," Rey spits, "then I'm sure you would be adept at controlling your ire!" She is filled with such sudden rage amd sorrow at her situation that she begins to cry. "I have met men like you, Ren, and I do feel sorry for your mother—giving birth to someone so sure of themselves, and with such a colossal predilection for arrogant behavior, must have been painful indeed." 

It is the sight of him, wrathful and shaking, that sends a strange feeling of warmth to settle in the pit of her stomach. He seizes her, kneels, and she utters a soft, indignant cry as he takes her upon his knee and allows the threat of physical punishment to lay thick and heavy in the air. 

Rey finds herself wondering if she would mind his ministrations at all. 

"For all of your talk, you  _do_ desire me." Ren is clearly unsurprised, and Rey squirms in his grip. "You find me interesting, if not downright  _alluring_."

She squeaks with alarm as he lifts the hem of her dress upwards, and he lowers the timbre of his voice dangerously, shifting her within his grip so that she is sitting upon his lap. He wraps an arm around her waist, stilling her movements, and Rey is, surprisingly, finding herself to be enjoying this. 

He moves his unoccupied hand to grip the space between her thighs easily, and for the first time Rey realizes that her undergarments contain a slick patch of wetness, foreign but not unwelcome and clearly a byproduct of his ministrations. 

"I knew it. Have you ever had anyone hold you in this way, Rey? Tolerating your beautiful mouth while such ugly words tumble forth?"

"No," she murmurs softly, and he begins to peel the thin layer between her slit and his hands away. She keens, almost unwittingly, and presses her hands to her mouth. 

"Let them out, Rey. I want the staff to hear every little whimper of yours, knowng that despite your argumentative behavior, you belong to me." 

His words strike a chord within her, and the unexplored space between her thighs throbs in tandem with her racing heartbeat. She utters a strained moan, aching for him to alleviate the feeling, and rotates her hips just enough to generate a sort of friction between his gloved hand and her weeping folds. 

He  _laughs_ , and Rey is about to kick him before he presses his thumb against a small bundle of nerves that send her thighs quaking at his touch. 

"Look at this, Rey. My  _Lady_ , I thought you were more dignified." The cool leather of his thumb extricates itself from the area hidden beneath a thick thatch of curls, and she has no time to react before he is urging her mouth open and plunging the soiled surface of his glove past her lips. 

Ren wastes no time in easing a too-long finger past her entrance, and she wants to argue and fight but  _oh_ , this is new and she enjoys it very, very much—

Two fingers, now, and Rey is a quivering mess, hair falling from her braid and Ren's lips upon her neck, staining her freshly-washed skin with a trail of red marks that she knows will be purple by the morning. He is whispering something, too, the deep rumble of his baritone embedding itself within her psyche as he  _teases_ her—

And suddenly, she seizes up, pressing her lips against his hair and whimpering pitifully as she arches against him. He removes his fingers with a  _pop_! and holds her shivering but fulfilled body against his before wiping his gloved hands upon the floor. 

"We can have the help clean that, as well. Am I a child now, Rey?" 

"You only did that because you had no retort." 

He laughs. "Yet you are out of breath. I win by default, my Lady." 

Rey  _hates_ him.

He continues to kiss her, but she finds herself smiling, giggling when his long curls tickle her cheek. 

Oh, how she hates him. 


End file.
